For The Love of Boromir
by Jazzcat
Summary: Unmasking Boromir: An intimate portrait of Captain Boromir by one who knew him better than most: A noblewoman of Gondor named Malinalda.
1. Default Chapter

1. THE QUESTION

I scowled in deep concentration. Working with gold was delicate and difficult, and already it had consumed most of my day. My fingers trembled from sheer exhaustion. Heating the dark yellow metal and not burning one's hand was always a challenge, and one I welcomed; but the gold was not behaving itself on this gray afternoon that held the promise of rain for later in the evening. I had spent hours bent over my chosen task, an intricate gold clasp wrought with the tree of Gondor etched into its gilded surface, but I reveled in it. It was a struggle, but I was nearly finished with my little project, which was literally a labor of love. I could not help but be proud of how it was coming along, not the less for the trials I had endured to bring the raw material to such a state of near-completion.

I was just twisting the last bit of thin, heated gold wire and affixing it by means of welding to the main brooch when I heard the horn blow – a loud, lusty blast that made me shoot upright out of my chair and forget all about my work. I dropped the all-important clasp and ran to the window to lean over the sill and look down on the white cobblestone streets of Minas Tirith.

"Boromir! Boromir!" I cried joyfully, and I smiled and laughed when I saw him.

Sure enough, he was coming. I saw him, standing out among the other knights of Gondor, whether or not he was riding at their head on a fine bay stallion that was as proud as he. He was resplendent in his dark armor with the symbol of the white tree and seven stars wrought into its surface, and the great horn of Gondor was slung around his neck. It was that same horn which I had heard blowing to announce his arrival.

Boromir's head jerked upward at the sound of my voice, and his eyes sought mine, and he found me standing high in the tower over him. There was an unmistakable flash of fire in the depths of his eyes when he beheld me, which I could see even over so great a distance, and his hard expression came to life with a smile that matched my own.

"Malinalda!" he shouted up to the window, and then he grinned almost boyishly as he pulled his great stallion to a halt before my tower. "Laurelin, my little lady," he added, reverting to his nickname for me, "come down here and greet your lord properly!"

I laughed and bit my lip, my light gray eyes shining, I knew, with floods of emotion only Boromir could stir from my quiet soul. Such was his way, to make demands even on his lady love, but I liked it. I dashed away from the window and bounded down the winding staircase, giggling with anticipation, and by the time I burst out the huge doors and ran across the courtyard, he was already off his horse and waiting for me. I smiled and ran straight into his arms.

"Laurel," he breathed in my ear while he crushed me to himself, but I felt safe in his strong embrace. After a moment I tried to pull away from him, for his company of knights that he captained over were still standing in the path behind him, and I could feel them staring at us. I did not want to make a scene in front of them. Sensing this, Boromir grinned mischievously and pulled me to him all the harder.

"Laurelin, Laurelin. You fear leading the fine lads of Gondor to jealousy?" he teased.

I gave in almost immediately and laughed lightly instead. Resisting Boromir was pointless; I had known it since the time he began to court me.

"No, my lord," I replied when I could breathe, for the strength of his arms was overwhelming. "I only do not wish…" I paused to take in a long gulp of air before continuing "…to suffuse the cheeks of those who accompany you on your triumphant return with a blush of embarrassment that would not so well become a knight of Gondor."

He released me from his crushing grip borne of long-suffering separation and held me at arm's length, studying me with a hint of merriment playing in his brown eyes.

"Laurelin mine, but I do believe it is you who are doing the blushing," he retorted playfully.

I grinned back, showing more decorum of behavior in public than the brash Captain of Gondor. "A blush far more becomes a maiden than a soldier of Minas Tirith, my lord." I tilted my head and regarded him. "Would you not agree?"

He laughed heartily at that. It was no light chuckle to humor me, but a genuine laugh that issued from deep within him, and I smiled to see the affect my light jest was having on him. Already it seemed as if the trip he had taken into darkness and danger was far in the distant past; the memory of it faded even as I watched him.

"You compare my men to maidens?" he challenged.

I glanced at them. "At the moment, my lord, they blush like maidens."

He laughed again and took me on his arm, and he leaned close to whisper conspiratorially, "And they fight like maidens, too."

I choked on my mirth and stole another sidelong glance at the company in question as Boromir led me away. Already they were dispersing, taking sweaty horses to stables and greeting wives, children and loved ones. I smiled. The Boromir and Malinalda show was over, and seeing no undue display of romance being forthcoming, they quickly lost interest in us. I was relieved beyond words that Boromir had had enough sense of decorum to not kiss me in front of them.

Boromir, it seemed, also quickly lost interest in me. Sometimes I felt like little more than a badge on his arm, another conquest of the great warrior, but I did not mind. That was Boromir's manner. He was not overly affectionate and his gushes of tenderness were brief and short-lived, and never enough to bring me to shyness. Rather Boromir was strong and protective, and inclined to be on the silent side. I found it suited my withdrawn introvert nature.

But as I walked beside him, clinging to his arm while his hand rested atop mine, I looked up and studied this man who had captured me.

Boromir was stern and resolute, forceful and harsh. He held barely in check great power, and his hard jaw was set like stone most of the time. He was a firm leader of men and always got what he wanted. A part of me wondered if that was why he and I were together. He said he loved me and wanted me from the moment he laid eyes on me, and he pursued me relentlessly from the time we met after my mother relocated the two of us to Minas Tirith. Once she was settled, I could sense her slowly crawling into a shell, retreating from everything and everyone into a shroud of grief, and I was helpless to do anything about it.

She and I were nobles of Osgiliath, but we moved to the White City to escape the growing shadow of Mordor. But I felt my mother had her own reasons for coming; the ever darkening skies which oppressed us reminded her all the more sharply of the time my father rode away and never came back. I knew she was escaping more from painful memories of black days and an aching lonliness than any physical danger.

And so we came to Minas Tirith and were gladly welcomed by the Steward Denethor. It was at a feast soon after, to which we were invited as a sign of welcome from the resident nobility, that Boromir and I were first introduced. The intensity of his gaze was the first thing I noticed about him. I knew at once that he was not used to being told no. I believe that, in Boromir's mind, there was only one outcome to our relationship, even before I verbally accepted his offer of courtship. There was nothing subtle about his advances. There was never anything subtle about Boromir.

That was one of the things I loved most about him.

Boromir was so different from me. I was a thoughtful, quiet girl who needed someone like him. He was, to me, the father I never had, for my own father had fallen in battle long ago, when I was a child too young to remember what it was like to have a father.

I was afraid of the dark. I never liked going anywhere by myself. My favorite pastimes were spent indoors, usually quietly embroidering or sewing, or making pottery or something with my hands. I loved to work with my hands. There was a freedom in the creativity, of bending and shaping and molding raw material, until a piece of work emerged that was decorative and useful.

Boromir used to say he loved that about me. He loved the quiet, the peace that surrounded me and enveloped the atmosphere about me when I was working, he said. He would come and sit by me and just watch whatever I was doing with a rapt fascination, and I was content to have him so near, radiating strength and gentleness at the same time. We spoke little. To be in the presence of him whom I loved was enough, and I sensed he felt the same. Time did not seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter as long as my Boromir was with me.

Often he would fall asleep, and I marveled to see his face, which was transformed then into the Boromir I knew he could be. This was how I saw him, deep down in my soul. My insight did not fail me, for indeed, when the lines dropped from his forehead and he nodded against the back of his couch, he seemed as sweet as a child. I would lay aside my embroidery and watch him sleep, and listen to him lightly snore, and even the way the short, dark tendrils of hair curled and dropped over his face and cast thin, clawlike shadows over his high brow intrigued me.

I knew I loved him. I wanted to care for him more than anything. I devoted my life to him. He became mine, totally mine. My heart belonged to him without reserve. And I knew, by the innocent, trusting way he looked up at me with his fiery dark eyes when he awoke to find his head resting in my lap and my arms around him, that his heart was mine to hold as well. When I leaned down to gently kiss him, I saw the fire in his eyes burn low, and I knew that I could soothe his spirit and tame him, in the same way he built me up and made me feel that I was stronger and more courageous than I truly was.

And I liked that. The mutual belonging between us was deeply fulfilling for me, and I sensed it was for him as well, whether I was a conquest of his manly prowess or not. I was willing to give myself in love to support him in his glorious endeavors as soldier and captain of Gondor and satisfy his emotional needs, for he did the same for me.

And it was enough.

The opening of the great doors to reveal the stark white hall of cold marble and stone pillars beyond shook me out of my thoughts. I always felt intimidated by the imposing place, and the ceiling rising so far above me made me feel even smaller than I was, but Boromir suffered from no such qualms and led me inside without hesitation. I fed off his confidence and willingly walked beside him. Boromir was eager and impatient, I could tell, for he all but dragged me before the throne of his father. I was glad when Boromir came to a stop and bowed before the Steward, and Denethor rose to greet us. He seemed as much pleased to see me as his own son. I was aware of a tingle of elation at this, for it made Boromir and I seem more of a couple.

"Father," said Boromir quietly, and I noticed that some of his proud demeanor slipped away from him in the presence of the Steward Denethor.

Denethor eyed me, and I was suddenly aware of my disheveled appearance and wild mane of dark hair that had come loose from the silver circlet on my brows in my haste to see Boromir upon his return, and now tumbled in curling waves about my flushed face. Self-consciously I smoothed the wrinkles from my gray skirt and shrank into the folds of my darker gray cloak, and I pressed close to Boromir's side – an action that Boromir did not seem to notice, so intent was he on his father.

"My son, my lady Malinalda," Denethor said to us, but I could feel his gaze on me and my cheeks burned as I kept my eyes averted. "How fares Osgiliath, Captain?" Denethor was asking.

Boromir drew himself taller beside me, and I could feel him puffing with pride at his latest accomplishments on the battlefield.

"All is well in Osgiliath, my lord," he replied, his voice inflated with poorly-concealed arrogance. I bit my lip in embarrassment at his behavior; he was far too conceited about his warrior status. He was a good soldier, to be sure, but this sheer, unadulterated pride was going to be his downfall one day.

I tuned out as he droned on about his heroic deeds and his route of the Orcs, and while they talked intently, absorbed in conversation, I sneaked a glance at Denethor and noticed that he was not studying me at all. His full attention was riveted on his favorite son. I looked down again, ashamed of myself. It was my naturally shy nature that was getting the best of me.

Denethor had proud, carved features and dark eyes, and a sharp nose that reminded me of a bird of prey, or of a raven. I hated to equate my future father-in-law to a vulture, thinking my judgement of his character too harsh, but Denethor was most likened to those carrion birds to my mind's eye.

This observation I kept as my deepest secret, and I certainly never told Boromir what I thought of his father besides the superficial comments of admiration. Denethor was Boromir's idol. When Boromir spoke of the reigning Steward of Gondor, there was an expression of pure awe in his face that made me wonder what it was about Denethor that could inspire such hero-worship. I certainly did not see it, but Denethor could do no wrong in the eyes of his eldest son. This was an image I was loathe to shatter, whether or not the rumors about Denethor's rocky relationship with his younger son, Faramir, were true. And so I kept my dark and sometimes treasonous thoughts to myself.

For such a quiet girl, I mused, I could sometimes think the most scandalous things.

For my part, Denethor held a kind of morbid fascination for me. His eyes were utterly cold and nearly black and so piercing that whenever his gaze sought mine, I looked away and did not allow his eyes to dwell inside of me and divine my innermost secrets. He made me shudder; it was as if I could hide nothing from him. He vaguely frightened me. I sensed that he could be cruel and heartless, and I tried not to imagine what it would be like to be at the mercy of such a man. And yet he was ever kind to me, and smiled upon me often, with that indulgent, warm smile that a father might have for his daughter, and this endeared him to me. But truly, I believe he behaved thus towards me since he held Boromir in such high favor. Whatever woman was beloved in Boromir's eyes was treasured by his father as well.

A movement out of the corner of my eye disrupted my thoughts. I looked to the side of the hall, and there beheld the Lord Faramir, who was lurking quietly and observing this meeting between Denethor and his brother Boromir. I thought I saw an ocean of longing in his soft brown eyes, and I knew also that Faramir was more like me: Quiet, thoughtful, shy and introvert, but something told me that this was not right; that buried deep inside Faramir was a bold heart and the promise of valiant deeds that would rival those of Boromir himself. Why he was still merely a soldier and made to dwell in his brother's shadow was a wrong I could not comprehend.

It puzzled me how I could be trapped in such a web of love and hate between father and sons by my own love for Boromir. I felt truly sorry for Faramir, but Boromir, while he thought well enough of Faramir, did not lift a hand to change Faramir's situation. This, too, offended both my logic and my inherent sense of right and wrong.

Something was happening between Denethor and Boromir, and while I was deep in my muse, I had missed it entirely. Denethor stretched out his hand to the Steward, and Denethor had put something in his son's hand, which was then quickly dropped into a pocket. I brought my focus back to the throne before me and struggled to pick up on some thread of their recent discussion, but nothing came to me, so I stood silently clinging to Boromir's arm and feigning mild disinterest.

At the same moment, the ever-watchful Denethor noticed his youngest son in the shadows. And then he looked at me, and back at Faramir, and once again, his cold, hard stare rested on me. I shrank toward Boromir and partially hid behind him to escape from this silent treatment that felt like a punishment and a questioning all rolled into one piercing gaze.

Denethor's eyes darkened further, and I looked away from both Denethor and Faramir to avoid any more uncomfortable situations or glances from anyone, but I had the strangest notion that Denethor was working to keep me from developing any sort of relationship with Faramir, even to the point of discouraging simple friendship between us, in case the gentler man would chance to win my heart at some point during one of Boromir's all-too-frequent absences. I was vaguely offended by this, for did I not have my own free will? I could make up my own mind about whom I loved, and not be so easily swayed on a whim! It conveyed a lack of respect for my integrity and seemed to suggest a weakness of heart on my part, and a fragility of love between Boromir and myself. And then I considered Boromir's insistant and often forceful wooing, and I wondered: Did I truly have free will in this matter?

It was befuddling. I shook my head to clear it, just in time to realize we were being dismissed. Boromir bowed, and I managed a faint smile and dropped into a graceful curtsey. Denethor looked upon me, and I could see he was pleased with me, which only made my cheeks flush the redder, especially after my interaction between him and Faramir only a moment before, which Denethor now lightly brushed aside as if it had not even occurred. Puzzled, I risked a glance at Denethor, and I noticed he was watching me speculatively. I bit my lip as Boromir turned and steered me toward the doors once more to escort me back to my tower, leaving me to tumble the matter over in my mind.

Perhaps the unsettling encounter disturbed me more than I thought, but whatever the reason for it, I did not fully understand the exuberance of Boromir's mood until we left the citadel and came to my tower. Only then did I realize that he was battling nervousness and excitement, and he was looking at me. I stopped once we made it inside the door of my tower and regarded him with mild curiosity.

"What is it, Boromir?" I asked quietly, for I felt quite unable to handle any more speculation and sensed the need for something concrete. Too many conflicting emotions battled for control of my mind; too much that I could not sort through.

Boromir shut the door, and he took me by the hand and smiled at me.

"Much, my love," he replied, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly. But his brilliant smile was infectious and transferred to my own face.

"Much of great importance, I deem," I replied dryly.

He made no comment and led me to the hearth. It was midwinter, and slightly chilly, but even so I had not realized I was cold until we were standing before the glowing hearth. Boromir moved behind me and removed my cloak from my shoulders, and I smiled at the gesture. I stood before the fire and rubbed my hands over my arms in an attempt to warm them by sheer friction, an effort which was only partially successful.

Boromir hung my cloak on a wall hook before returning to stand before me. I looked up at him, and his dark eyes were intense and unreadable. The smile had melted away from him. I had to suppress a sudden laugh.

"You're bursting," I informed him casually. "Just… whatever it is, my lord, just get it out. You want to say something, that much is clear to me."

He nodded but did not reply. He seemed to be gathering his nerve, as a wildcat might prepare to spring on prey it has been watching for some time while waiting for the opportune moment.

I glanced around the empty room in an exaggerated fashion. We were alone; even the servants were elsewhere.

"I do not see your men about," I said, returning my gaze of mild amusement to Boromir. "I cannot blame your lack of speech on their presence, my lord."

To my great surprise, Boromir did not laugh. He was deadly serious.

"It is not their presence which holds my tongue, Laurelin." He swallowed hard, which was unlike him. I didn't think I had ever seen him in such a mood.

He really was nervous, I thought wonderingly.

"Then what?" I pressed.

There was another long, awkward pause between us.

"It is your presence, Laurelin," he admitted finally.

I frowned a little, taken aback. His voice had grown terribly husky all of a sudden. Was he catching a cold? The weather had taken a turn for the worse of late, and he and his company had been out in it, sleeping on the frozen ground, covered only by what thin blankets they possessed while traveling light.

"Are you all right?" I asked in concern.

He looked down and shook his head.

I was growing faintly alarmed at his behavior.

"Boromir, what's wrong?" I cried.

He sighed and looked up at me.

"I love you, Laurelin," he said, almost longingly.

"I know," I responded matter-of-factly, but I was gazing at him in unveiled puzzlement. "You've loved me for some time, as I love you. But that's never been an excuse for-"

Boromir took both my hands in his own, abruptly silencing me. I searched his eyes for some clue, but the answer remained hidden from me. Then Boromir drew me close and kissed me.

It was a strange kiss. He seemed to be trembling, as if he needed some kind of reassurance. I ended the kiss a little early, for I was confused by what I was feeling from him, and he did not protest. He stood, still and unmoving, just… looking at me, like a child might stare at a jar of candy he wanted but was afraid to ask for.

"Boromir, what is it?" I pressed.

He sighed again for the second time in the last three minutes.

"Do you love me, Laurelin?" he asked.

I frowned. "Of course I do," I retorted, but I felt the need to comfort him. I stretched out my hand to set it on his shoulder. "What a strange thing for you to-"

Suddenly I broke off and gasped. All was made clear in one startling instant. Before my hand could arrive at its intended destination, Boromir dropped down onto his knees and was looking up into my eyes with that same longing, pleading expression that had ever haunted his face since we came to this place. My hand was firmly entrenched between both of his, while the other, bereft of will now that I was too stunned to do anything with it after its target had been removed, hovered aimlessly in the space between us.

"Marry me," Boromir breathed.

I blinked. My throat had also gone dry. "What?" I croaked.

His grip on my hand tightened, as if he were afraid of losing me.

"Marry me, Laurelin," he said again.

I bit my lip and looked down at him, feeling tears rise to my eyes and threaten to reduce me into a helpless weeping female before the man who so desperately sought an answer. I had so long waited for this moment, and now that it had come, I couldn't think straight enough to get out a single word. For what seemed an eternity, I stood there, struggling and unable to do anything else.

Boromir saw my predicament, and he rose and instinctively put his arms around me and pulled me close, and I laid my head against his shoulder and cried a little puddle into his tunic. Boromir stroked my back comfortingly, but I knew he was still waiting, so I fought to control myself and managed to nod.

"Yes," I rasped out. "I will marry you."

I felt relief flood through his whole being, followed by elation. He hugged me tighter, and then I laughed, and he joined me. He drew back only to slip a ring onto my finger, which I realized was what Denethor had given him, right in front of me, at the citadel. I felt so giddy that I giggled helplessly when Boromir drew me close to seal our promise with a tender kiss.


	2. ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS

_**About "For The Love of Boromir":** First, thank you for your impatience! I finished the entire 45,000 word, 12-chapter fanfiction in a blazing three weeks, and it was not an easy task. But I have good news and bad news regarding this tale._

_**Bad news:** I will not be posting any more of the story here on FFN. :(_

_**Good news:** I'm turning it into the opening book for my twenty-book series! It was too good of a tale to give entirely to Boromir (sorry, buddy) and I got another idea just before I finished it, which actually delayed the finishing of that book. So, if you want to read the altered version when it comes out as an ebook on my website, drop me an email and let me know._

_**My website is: www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com**_

_I did, however, post this one more "chapter" with answers to all the reviewers because I had so many. Thank you so much for your reviews, and enjoy chapter one as a one-shot!_

•••••••••••

**Moryan:** Stay in touch! If I could finish the entire tale in three weeks flat, I can have it changed to fit my timeline sooner than that, I sure hope. I'm glad I could alter your perception of the valiant Captain at least a little bit. The rest of the story will change your view of him forever, I daresay…

**Luke Skywalker:** I made you think about him for only "a minute"! Very nice! I don't care for Denethor either, but in this version of the LOTR tale, while perfectly canon, I give some good reasons for his behavior and show that he had issues under which he might be shown forgiveness by all who are tough on him. I'm keeping my personal feelings about Boromir and Denethor out of the matter, since this is Malinalda's story and she is the one who sees the redeeming qualities in both men.

**Pipkin Sweetgrass:** You know, I believe the description was truly inadequate. Judas is indeed a poor comparison, but I wrote that line because so many people overlook Boromir, if not hate him outright, because they do indeed see him as a "Judas". Perhaps this comes from canonizing Frodo. I changed the subject line just for you:) In answer to your other questions, this is a pro-Boromir fanfiction. Malinalda loves him! She can hardly hate him since she accepted to marry him. Through her eyes, I sought to reveal the man Boromir truly is underneath the armor, rather than the common view people (readers and fictitious Gondorians alike) have for the Steward's eldest son. It is indeed a romantic fic, a wonderfully romantic fic, and I'm wild about the ending. I'll be sure to let you know when it's really and truly out. And yes, I have read all the books, and the Hobbit, part of the Silmarillion, and other smatterings of Tolkien's brilliance like Leaf by Niggle.

**Dashing Daylight:** Thank you! I know what you mean about reading romance, but I do not write romance novels. I write love stories. There is actually a big difference.

**Ariella Divorah:** My goodness. Thank you very, very much. That was the most amazing review I've ever gotten. It's interesting that you noticed the "adult tone", which is what I was striving for with this particular piece. Malinalda, Boromir, and Denethor are all highly complex characters, and I wanted to change up from my usual routine of action/adventure and slow down to take a look at the deeper facets of these intriguing personalities. It was a wonderful challenge. I will definitely let you know when the alternate version of this story comes out. The ending was nothing short of legendary.

**Daughter of Olorin:** That was a greatly thought-provoking review. Thank you! I'll attempt to answer all your questions. The horn was indeed supposed to be blown only in times of great danger, but within the walls of Minas Tirith, it was not such a big deal. Boromir struck me as having an almost playful side when not involved in some major quest that involves the freedom of all Middle-earth. Blowing the horn of Gondor under his lady's window seemed like something he would do for a kick. This is more book- than movie-canon, but I don't rule out the movie at all; it just took place off-camera and stuck to Tolkien's timeline. His eye color I changed later to green to go with the public image of Boromir, thanks to your observation. Boromir took Malinalda inside the White Tower because he knew full well what he was planning for the evening, and he had a certain ring of Finduilas to pick up for the occasion. ;) Denethor was obviously in on the secret. I agree with your disagreement about the Judas line; see my note to Pipkin Sweetgrass for more elaboration on that.

**Deandra:** I'm with you all the way! Boromir has been portrayed in other fanfictions as a womanizer or a general evil among the populace, which is not true at all. The rest of my story explores more in-depth what Boromir was really like out of the public eye, and I quite appreciated him when I was through. Malinalda has an interesting ability to sense things and interpret them in her mind, and then she feels the emotional side as well, and she knew Boromir had a good heart. That was why such a discerning maiden as she would take up with Boromir at all.

**LothirielofRohan:** I'm glad you liked it! Unfortunately, this was indeed a one-shot, it turns out, but there is going to be more in the ebook. Maybe someday I'll release the Boromir version, but if that happens, it is a long time in the future coming. But shifting this tale to the other series will be worth it, trust me.

_**Again, thanks to all my reviewers! If you do want to be notified when the ebook comes out, email me and/or sign up on the website.**_

_**Website: www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com**_

_**Remove the parentheses and type it into your browser or email window like an ordinary address, and you will arrive at your desired destination.**_

_**Blessings!**_

_**Jazzcat**_


End file.
